Anorexic Angel

By Paula O., Brighton, CO

Image Credit: Michael G., Mildford, MA

Don’t call me beautiful,”You say,And most sincerely.“I’m not beautiful, not yet.”I look at youPast the featherless scalds in your velvet wingsPast your dull, hell-bent halo with but a faint glimmer survivingAnd into your eyes.I see the hate and hurt in your flexing pupilsAnd try to protect you from seeing the same things in my ownThough I shouldn’t worry - your eyes are blindBlind to what you’ve done to yourself, andBlind to what you’ve done to me.And I whisper for the thousandth time todayPatiently, stolidly still:“No, you are.”And I will say it a thousand more timesAs I sit hereHelplessHolding your limp head in my lapAnd stroking your stale hairBecause you need to hear itYou need to know your (swan) song is heard.Your last staggering, faltering note resounds in me foreverAnd I will help you, if only by saying once more,“You’re beautiful.”